


the ocean echoing inside of your ribcage

by trousers



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Identity, M/M, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-30
Updated: 2012-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-11 01:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trousers/pseuds/trousers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I could take my mask off?” he offered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the ocean echoing inside of your ribcage

The bay at the foot of Mount Justice was beautiful, the sand made golden by the setting sun, the sky coloured pastel blue and pink and pale yellow. His duties to the team finished for the day, Tim had been sitting at the edge of the small balcony cut into the side of the mountain for about ten minutes before a prickling at the back of his neck warned him of someone’s presence behind him. Without turning round, he said “Hello.”

There was a good-natured laugh from behind him, and Conner said, “I’ve never been able to sneak up on Nightwing either.”

Tim glanced over as Conner sat down next to him. The sunlight played off Conner’s features and when he smiled his teeth looked very white. Fighting a rising blush, Tim stared resolutely out at the bay. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Conner fidgeting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t decide how to word it.

Finally, he spoke haltingly: “Robin, are you alright? I mean—I’m not trying to be rude, but… you don’t seem that close with anyone on the team and I only really see you talking to Nightwing outside of missions, and, well, I know it’s not the same but I used to feel pretty isolated too, and—” He cut himself off with a grimace. “Sorry, I’m babbling. But I’m supposed to be a mentor for this team, and I’m not as dumb as I look. I just wanted to make sure things were alright.”

Conner’s expression was difficult to read; worry and tension and anticipation warred on his face. Tim shook his head with a bitter smile. “It’s nothing. Nothing you or I can do anything about, anyway. It’s just that everyone is so close and knows each other’s names, and I’m not allowed any of it. I don’t like keeping my mask on all the time; I don’t like being known only as my code name. Being Robin is something I do, not who I am.”

“Some mentor I am. Sorry, I guess I don’t have the right experience to give you advice on this. But you could talk to Nightwing, he must have been through something similar,” Conner suggested.

“No,” Tim said, “it’s not the same. He _is_ Robin, he _is_ Nightwing. He doesn’t make the distinction like I do. When I wear this mask I’m Robin, but when I take it off, I’m myself.”

Conner smiled gently, leaning to brush his shoulder against Tim’s. “So, who _are_ you?”

 “I can’t. Batman has forbidden me from revealing my name to the team. If any of them should be compromised, it would have an effect on Batman and Nightwing as well.”

Conner grinned and rolled his eyes. “Okay, then don’t tell me your name. Tell me something else.” he countered.

Tim just wanted to speak as _himself_ , to someone who understood being a superhero but didn’t think of him as Robin. He could hardly believe he was even thinking of making the suggestion, but he was frustrated with Batman and his rules. Anyway, this wouldn’t _technically_ count as revealing his identity since there was no way Conner would be able to put a name to his face. Still, what if Conner laughed or thought he was ugly or just flat-out rejected him? The crush that Tim had been nurturing since he’d first been introduced to Superboy fizzed in his chest. Well, damn it, he was still Robin right now, and Robin took risks.

“I could take my mask off?” he offered.

Conner beamed. “Really? Doesn’t that count as part of your identity? Batman—”

“Never mind Batman,” Tim said, feeling absurdly brave. “I won’t tell him if you don’t.” He opened one of his utility belt pouches and pulled out the miniature spray bottle of adhesive remover. Applying the mist to his skin, he noticed the familiar, slightly uncomfortable feeling of the edges of his mask curling as the glue dissolved. The black material pulled away from his face, and when he was sure all the glue had disappeared, he reached up to remove it entirely.

Suddenly stuck by uncertainty, Tim quickly averted his gaze. Oh god, this was a terrible idea, what had he been thinking? Now Conner would see how plain Tim was, and he’d never want him. He sighed. It wasn’t like he’d ever had a chance with his older, more experienced, more capable teammate anyway.

He was so caught up in the mental downwards spiral of self-doubt that he was almost caught by surprise when he felt something touch him. Conner’s fingers exerted gentle pressure on his chin, and he reluctantly let his head be turned to face Conner, staring squarely at the red “S” on his chest.

“ _Robin_ ,” Conner prompted, and there was a smile in his voice. Screwing up his courage—and how was it that he could dive, fearless, off a building and into a fistfight against five men twice his size, but the very idea of meeting Conner’s eyes made his heart race in trepidation?—he moved his eyes up. Over Conner’s broad neck, his square jaw, his quirked lips, his long nose, and then, oh, and then—

Eyes that he’d seen a thousand times before (but only ever through his mask’s lenses), blue, almond shaped, crinkled at the corners in a smile. Tim had to mentally kick himself for thinking like such a lovestruck schoolchild. As if in slow motion, Conner’s eyes widened and his brows rose. And here it came, the inevitable:  rejection, evasion, a hasty excuse.

He wrenched his head away from Conner’s grasp, unable and unwilling to watch his face fall at the sight of the real Tim. “Go on, leave,” he croaked, suddenly missing the safety of the blank expression that his mask afforded him. He’d thought of it before as a tool, a necessary evil, even as a cage, but never as something to hide behind. “I won’t hold it against you. We can just pretend this never happened.” He glared at his hands, lying folded in his lap.

“What?” Conner seemed to be jerking himself out of a daze. “Robin, why would I leave?”

“Because—” because _what_ , exactly? Anything he said would imply that he cared what Conner thought of his looks, which would lead to him realising Tim’s crush. And that absolutely _could not_ happen. Conner would have to reject him, because of so many things—the age difference, his inexperience, the simple fact that Conner most likely didn’t find guys attractive, let alone _Tim_ —no, it would make things awkward and uncomfortable, and might jeopardise the team.

Conner reached out and put his hand on the juncture of Tim’s shoulder and neck. His thumb rested against the skin above the collar of Tim’s cape. “Come on,” he smiled. “Look at me. I’m not going anywhere.” He stuck out his free hand, and said, “Hey, Real Robin, it’s good to meet you.”

Tim smiled, both in amusement and in gratitude at the change of subject. He took Conner’s hand and shook it. “Hello,” he replied. Conner's hand was warm and smooth and brown, and his grip was firm and sure.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from http://fadingroses19.wordpress.com/2012/04/29/home/


End file.
